Modern Warrior

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A true modern warrior, maybe not one in a uniform provided by the goverment. But a street warrior.

Submitted: December 22, 2007

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Submitted: December 22, 2007



Heavy Timberland boots would come down to the cement making loud thuds with every step taken forward through an urban jungle of decaying houses, egg shell and flat white paint chipping off the foundation of these goverment provided housing for the poor. The man most considered a thug to the neighborhood would steer through these streets through it's back alley ways and backyards before the sound of gun-play would once more come intothe thick of things. That dark metallic 45 caliber pistol would be unsheathed from within' his belts loop and raised up with one unsteady hand, calloused trigger finger sliding within' that slot and repititious ringing sounds of bullets flung forward from that extended magazine would exit into the thick eerie night into the back window of a later model Ford Explorer. The tinted windows shattered at the velocity and force of that entire magazine being emptied into the car and the sudden loud racket of that car coming into a collission with another vehicle head on.

Those red and blue lights were a signature color of the police showing up in the area. Early for once to what could be yet another dead mans case.

But i've started way too far into this story, let's go back about 4 months.

Vincent O'Miles was a name around town with a few for the time being. Not much of a danger to most, but merely a man operating on the fringes of law. Moving a few stolen pieces of equipment and dabbling in the narcotics business but primarily holding down 60 hour a week jobs. A lot of times back breaking jobs at illegals pay.

Another man came into play a co-worker at a factory with a hell of a coke connection considering; they were in this midwest city only made popular by their horse industry and no-lack of restaurant and movie theatre atmosphere. What most didn't know about the city and it's glamour of down home aristocracy, that seemed slightly tantilizing to most outside of it's grip, was the burgening underbelly of crime that even most cops did not see. These were men who held good jobs, good pay who didn't need to take fronts who could pay for drugs with cash made from legitamate jobs and resold to the same coworkers that were at their weakest emotional states at a price the streets hadn't seen since the 1980's. This was the cocaine business in the small city and their was a new player trying to make his mark. A mark of money, not power that would turn and mutate him into one of the most violent gangsters this city has ever seen.

© Copyright 2018 Vincent Forsaken. All rights reserved.

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